


Divine Inspiration

by fuzzyizmit



Category: Kingdom Come: Deliverance (Video Game)
Genre: Baking, Gen, Gift Fic, Inspiration, One Shot, Podfic Welcome, Pribyslavitz, YouTube, dream - Freeform, sexy biscuit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzyizmit/pseuds/fuzzyizmit
Summary: Can Barbara, Baker of Biscuit Town ever redeem herself? Perhaps some divine inspiration is in order here.





	Divine Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for one of the best Youtubers out there: Sexy Biscuit. You deserve a good fan fic. Be nice to Barbara for me... maybe just once ;) If you enjoy KCD, check out their channel, one of the best of KCD content! Also, play KCD! It's an amazing game! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCvpxkCUky0wN5e0DNf_YZCQ

The morning breeze carried the honeyed scent of the nearby roses mixed with fresh earth through Barbara’s open window. She woke early, just as the sun warmed the horizon to get a start on the day’s baking. Taking stock of her wares, she realized a trip to the trader was in order. After the first batch of pretzels was out of the oven and cooling, she made her way over.

“Good morrow, Barbara! What do you need today?” Kornelius saddled up to the table laden with wares.

“Can I get a bag of flour, please?”

“Sure thing. Anything else? Maybe some salt? _Sugar_?” His words had a bit of a sting to them and he knew it. Barbara’s reputation preceded her, as it did everywhere in Pribyslavitz.

She huffed.

“Just the flour, then.” Groschen quickly changed hands.

Barbara headed back to her shop, her cheeks burning.

She puttered around the shop, keeping her hands busy while her mind stewed. _Sugar! Really?!_ She could bake dozens of pretzels faster than anyone around could and they tasted exquisite… but there was one thing that eluded her. One prize that seemed forever out of her reach… she could not for the life of her bake a proper biscuit. Every time she tried, she would end up with a lump of pallid flavorless dough or a burned chunk of coal. She had all but given up ever figuring out how to create a sweet treat.

The bell above the door rang as a familiar customer entered. Barbara managed to have a smile by the time he greeted her.

“God save you, Tom.”

“And you.” He eyed her wares while stroking his luxuriously thick mustache. If it wasn’t for all the dice he played, Barbara would have considered Tom to be quite a catch. She forced herself to focus. No use getting distracted in front of a customer.

He picked up a fresh pretzel after haggling for a minute. As he popped a corner in his mouth, his finger raised up as if remembering something important. “Just a fair warning,” He mumbled in between bites. “The bailiff might be on his way. I saw him walking down the road.”

Barbara’s heart sank. She thanked Tom for his patronage as she ushered him out of the shop. Peeking beyond her door, she saw the Bailiff’s silhouette far down the rutty road. His armor shone as he waved a greeting to the people passing him in the street.

Barbara slammed the door shut, pressing herself against the wood. She wasn't ready to endure the bailiff and his incipient disappointment again. It was like this endless ritual. He would burst through her door, scrutinize her offerings and then leave in a huff over the lack of sweet confections—day after day.

She couldn't deal with it today—it was just too much. Barbara opened the door a sliver to spy the Bailiff jovially entering another shop across. Now was her chance. She slipped out and bolted the door behind her.

Her nerves were raw. Perhaps a nice walk in the woods could soothe her. The minutes trickled in a steady stream. She felt that the farther she wandered from home, the calmer her spirit became. She knew not to ramble too far. Bandits and Cumans hid in the woods to attack unlucky travelers. The sun rose high in the sky, its warmth pressing its balmy weight on her shoulders.

At an intersection, a familiar conciliation cross greeted her. Needing a rest, she sat on a nearby log. She thought long and hard about all the biscuit recipes she had tried over the year she had been the baker in Pribyslavitz, and each time she failed. Barbara offered a heartfelt prayer that God would somehow grant her the grace to finally create an eatable confection.

Rested, she rose to continue her stroll when her foot caught on something in the grass. Stumbling, she landed on her knees.

"Damn it."  At least the bailiff wasn't around to see her fail again.

Before she could rise to her feet, her eyes fell upon the object that had tripped her. To her surprise, she spied a wooden box wedged beneath the log where she had sat. Intrigued, she tried to pull it free, but it refused to budge. After giving the log a good shove with her shoulder, she managed to free the box, pulling it onto her lap.

Barbara felt compelled by some outside force to open it. Luckily, the lock had long since rusted away, leaving it easy to pop open with a deft thump with a nearby rock. Lifting the lid, she found a single book. Its leather cover was intricately carved ivy with tufts of feathery wheat intertwined. In the center, crowned with a buzzing beehive, was a stately oven surrounded by loaves of bread, cakes, and buns.

Barbara delicately opened the book to pages filled with beautiful script and dotted with numerous detailed illuminations.

She cursed under her breath. She had no bloody idea how to read.

\---

By the time she had returned home, she was exhausted, though more mentally than physically. Opening her shop, she soon found a rush of people through her door. She figured most were trying to finish their daily shopping and she had become their last stop to get a few loaves before heading home for supper. Happily, Barbara realized as she closed for the night that the bailiff seemed to have better things to do than food shopping.

Her mind returned to the mysterious book. She turned the pages absentmindedly as she ate her own dinner of lentil mash and hearty bread, studying the drawings to see if they held any clues to the contents of the pages. Unfortunately, none were forthcoming.

Discouraged, Barbara pondered about who might help her decipher the text... without charging too much. She spent the remainder of the night cleaning the shop before heading to bed, the book tucked neatly beneath her pillow. She would have to find a safer hiding spot for such a valuable item, but until then she wasn't going to leave it too far from her side.

As the pale moon arched across the sky, Barbara began to dream. She found herself in a quiet chapel in the woods surrounded by dozens of frozen figures, stately frescos staring at her with their unmoving eyes.

The belching blast of an alien-sounding trumpet abruptly broke the silence. Startled, Barbara looked up to see the wall glowing with a golden light. Out stepped a figure.

“Quiet, Boris,” it said. “And go and get a tissue.”

“Who are you?” Barbara blurted.

“I am Saint Honoratus of Amiens!”

Barbara quickly crossed herself as she knelt, bowing her head. God had truly sent her a boon in the patron saint of bakers. In their right hand, they held a golden baker’s shovel.

“Glory be to God! He has sent me a sign!”

"To be honest, we thought the recipe book would be enough. We normally don't send anyone on a personal intervention like this but _someone_ forgot to check if to see if you could read."

The trumpet emitted an annoyed-sounding blurt. Barbara looked away confused, feeling she might be intruding on some otherworldly spat.

"But that is neither here nor there," the saint continued. They lowered the golden shovel to reveal a trio of perfectly round pale biscuits. A small heart cut in the middle exposed a red center. "These, Barbara—Baker of Biscuit Town—are Jammie Dodgers. These are God's gift to you."

A holy hand burned Barbara's forehead.

\---

Barbara woke with a start, gasping as her mind buzzed and churned with godly knowledge. Even though the sun had yet to start to rise, Barbara began to prepare. She found her larder filled with every ingredient she needed, even though part of her knew she had never seen some of them in any market. As the town woke around her, she hardly noticed the bustling outside her windows as she stirred and mixed, kneaded and baked.

She pulled sheets and sheets from the oven, soon realizing she had nowhere to place the hot biscuits to cool. Looking around, the only place to put them was her display tables... which were still filled with yesterday’s leftover pretzels. In a fit, she opened a shutter and tossed them all into the street, her only worry the creation of these divinely perfect confections.

Like a woman possessed, she worked tirelessly, forgoing food and water in her quest. She wiped sweat from her eyes as she positioned each faultless biscuit on her table.

Suddenly, the bailiff burst into the bakery.

"It's I, Henry! Bailiff of Biscuit To-" Henry stopped, his boisterous entrance arrested by a wall of sweet-smelling treats. His eyes went wide as scanned the table laden with row after row of shortbread framed red hearts.

"Barbara?" he gasped. "What are these?"

Barbara puffed up with pride. "Why, Sir Henry, have you never seen a biscuit before?" She couldn't help but direct a small jab at the bailiff, but he seemed too shocked to notice. He stood, unmoving. "Well, try one, good man! You shan't leave me in suspense any longer!"

Henry carefully took a bite, crumbs catching in his bushy beard. Barbara held her breath. In her fervor, she had forgotten to actually taste the biscuits as she was creating them.

A huge grin spread across Henry's face. "At last, we have a proper biscuit in Biscuit Town! God be praised!"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Divine Inspiration [dramatic reading] [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113931) by [fuzzyizmit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzyizmit/pseuds/fuzzyizmit)




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